


Fleeting Fantasy

by Anonymous



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Blossomcest, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Incest, Kink Meme, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:25:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11269821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Cheryl and Jason Blossom are very close. So close sometimes people take them for a couple rather than twins. Written for a prompt on the kink meme.





	Fleeting Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt is here:https://riverdale-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1356.html?thread=276300#cmt276300
> 
> Hope you enjoy, OP. Sorry if it's a little short and/or rushed (and maybe a bit cliche).

 

 It happens the first time in a fancy restaurant, tucked away on the waterfront of a New England town called Shale Cove.

 It couldn’t happen in Riverdale, of course. Everyone in within the township limits knows the Blossom family, their faces and their names. They’re the local equivalent of royalty. Or maybe mad tyrants depending on whom you asked.

 Regardless, Jason and Cheryl Blossom grew up under the collective eyes of Riverdale, and there isn’t a man or woman in town who could fail to recognize them.

 But that isn’t the case in the world beyond. Out there, ‘founding family of some backwater town in upstate New York’ doesn’t count for much. Out there, Cheryl and Jason are just another pair of fresh-faced teens. No different from any other in status or worth. Names, stories, and hearts unknown.

 So sitting in this quaint little seaside restaurant in northern Maine, the twins cannot help a sense of freedom. Of liberation from expectations, from preconceptions. From reality.

 Jason flips through the menu for the fifth time, coming no closer to a decision.

 “What are you getting?” he finally asks his sister, in the vain hopes her selection will help narrow down his own choices.

 “I’m not gonna get anything,“ she pats her stomach. “Have to keep my figure for the squad next year.”

 Jason huffs and rolls his eyes.

 “Seriously? We did not come here so I could sit eating alone like a jackass while you drink water.”

 “I don’t want to put on weight!” she complains.

 “You’re not gonna-Cher, you’re eating something. I command it.”

 She crosses her arms in obstinate defiance.

 “No.”

 “ _Yes_.”

 “I don’t want to have to squeeze into my Vixen uniform.”

 “You don’t have to squeeze into anything. For god’s sake Cheryl, you look-“

 Cheryl smiles, suddenly, and leans forward a little, eyes glittering with expectation. She teases out a strand of her ginger hair and twirls it around her finger.

 “I look what?”

 Jason frowns, as he recognizes too late the trap he’s been lured into. He sighs in defeat.

 “You look great, okay?”

 His twin sister leans back into her side of the booth, a look of pure satisfaction blooming on her face.

 “Well…I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to have a bit of fish.”

 Jason buries his face in his menu again. He refuses, absolutely refuses, to make eye contact with her right now. That’ll just encourage her.

 “For the record, you should really work on your subtlety while fishing for compliments,” he says.

 The smile falls from her face and gives way to an annoyed frown. She kicks him gently under the table.

 “Dick.”

 Behind the menu, Jason smiles.

 As if sent from on high to defuse the situation, their waitress appears beside the table. Her lipstick shimmers in the dim restaurant light, and she flashes one of those exaggerated ‘customer service’ smiles.

 “Hi. My name’s Melanie, I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

 Jason momentarily considers ordering a glass of wine and gambling on the chance they won’t card him. He decides against it.

 “Just water.”

 “Same here,” Cheryl says.

 “Okay, great,” Melanie beams. “And are you guys ready to order or do you need more time.”

 “I’ll have the grilled chicken with a side of mashed potatoes, please,” Jason says.

 “Fantastic!” Melanie replies, in a voice far too enthusiastic for the occasion. “And your girlfriend?”

 Jason can almost hear the record scratch that would sound were this a particularly bad comedy.

 “Oh,” he begins, only to be cut off by Cheryl’s rapid interjection.

 “I’ll have the catfish, by itself,” she says, with a smile to match Melanie’s on her face. Jason shoots her a look, but says nothing. The waitress collects their menus and vanishes. A moment of silence passes before either of them speaks.

 “Uh, Cheryl…”

 “Sorry, I just thought it was kind of funny.”

He doesn’t reply. Partly because he doesn’t want to argue, but mostly because he doesn’t feel nearly as annoyed by the waitress’ mistake as social convention dictates he should. In fact, he doesn’t find it particularly annoying at all. Which is annoying. When Melanie returns fifteen minutes into their meal to ask if they need anything, he decides it’s probably too late to say; “oh by the way, she’s actually my sister” anyways. It’s _definitely_ too late after Melanie asks how the food is, and Cheryl responds by reaching across the table, squeezing Jason’s hand, and saying; “It’s great, right babe?”

 “…Yeah. It’s delicious. Thank you.”

 Ten minutes later, they finish. The twins pile soiled napkins and bits of food onto their plates and then stack them in the center of the table, the universal signal for ‘check, please’. Sure enough, Melanie soon comes along with a checkbook in hand and the eternal customer service smile on her face.

 “Are you two ready to pay?”

 “Yeah,” Cheryl says. “We’ll be paying in cash.”

 This was, after all, one of their few trips out of town not funded by their parents. And that was a good thing because it meant they got a bit of time together to themselves, free from the claws of their progenitors. Of course, it also meant mother and father wouldn’t be opening their accounts for them, so whatever they purchased or rented had to come out of their own pockets.

 Fine. It was worth it.

 Cheryl slips Melanie a $100 bill, and tells her to keep the change.

 The customer service smile grows a tad more genuine.

 “Thank you!” And before she turns to leave she says: “By the way, you two make an adorable couple.”

 Cheryl cracks a devilish little grin. She takes both Jason’s hands in hers, like a bride and her groom at the altar.

 “Don’t we?” She says in that self-satisfied, 100% Blossom tone that she’s so damn good at. Then, she leans over, and lightly kisses Jason on the cheek. Only, she cuts it a little close, and her lips just barely brush her brother’s. It lasts a split second at most, less probably, and then it’s over.

 But for Jason, the soft, sweet sensation of his sister’s lips against his own lingers for the rest of the evening.

 That was the first time.

They don’t speak about it much after. Yet Jason can’t help but think back to it. And often. It’s a peculiar thing, and yet he’s not quite sure what was so peculiar about it. It was a joke, right? They had slept in the same bed until 8th grade. They’d shared everything as children. This was just Cheryl being Cheryl. It didn’t mean anything. But slowly, as he examines and reexamines that night in his head, it dawns on Jason Blossom what exactly was so peculiar about it. And the peculiarity was that it didn’t really _feel_ like pretending at all. Indeed, it felt like the opposite. Like they’d finally had the opportunity to be _genuine_ for once. 

* * *

 It happens again some months later, in a bar somewhere in New York City. It’s a nice place (not like the Blossom twins would ever be caught dead in some dive), but enough cash trumps an ID at even the nicest of watering holes. So in they go.

 Cheryl slides into a seat at the bar, careful not to ruffle her newly pressed black evening gown (hell, it’s got a slit in the side and everything). She orders a Martini while Jason wanders over to try his non-existent skills at pool hustling. Cheryl warns him not to get punched.

 The night goes just fine until the inevitable occurs. A little past eight, some jackass with an awful haircut and a shitty blazer plunks himself down next to her. He smells, as much as everyone else in the place, like beer, and is probably about fifteen years older than her (though to be fair, she _is_ supposed to be 21).

 “Hey,” he starts, words more than a little slurred.

 Cheryl purses her lips and sips her martini. “Hey.” She mentally runs down a list of putdowns appropriate for the situation. God knows she’s built up quite a repertoire. Then again, most of them are tailored for high school kids and not 30 year old guys.

 “What’s up?”

 “What’s up is I was enjoying my drink here until you staggered over.” Not her best comeback ever, but it would have to do. She waits for him to get up and leave. He doesn’t seem to be getting the hint through the alcohol fueled haze. Cheryl grimaces.

 “So uh…what’s your name?”

 She looks over at Jason, who’s currently losing at pool, much to the amusement of his opponents. As fortune dictates, he just happens to look up at just the right moment to catch her eye. People say the twintuition thing is just a myth, but Cheryl swears to God there’s something to it.

  _Help_ she mouths. She’s not sure if he picked it up. Reading lips is a bitch.

 “My name?” she replies, realizing that at least for the moment she’s on her own. “Uh…” she thinks for a moment. “Archibald Andrews?”

 Beat.

 Yeah. This guy’s definitely way too drunk to appreciate any form of sarcasm.

 The guy begins tapping his fingers on the bar, as if it were possible to get even more annoying. Then, much to Cheryl’s horror, he slowly begins sliding his hand towards hers. She draws her hand back as if from a venomous serpent. Which would in fact be preferable.

 “Got a boyfriend?”

 “Yeah, actually.” Jason materializes behind him like the bad guy in a slasher flick. The guy’s eyes bug out of his head and Cheryl swears she can see his hairs stand on end. He stands up, though not on steady feet. Cheryl suppresses a laugh. Her would-be romancer looks up at Jason, who’s got a good four inches on him. “So,” Jason hisses. “Fuck off.”

 The failed Casanova very quickly makes himself scarce.

 Jason takes the guy’s empty seat.

 “I didn’t know you could teleport, Jason. Seriously, how’d you get over here that fast?”

 “I’m full of surprises, Cher.”

 Cheryl smiles and downs the rest of her martini. It’s not exactly enough to knock her on her ass, but it definitely goes right to her head.

 “So…” She begins, in that sultry, leading tone she employs so often against the hapless students of Riverdale High. “You’re my boyfriend now?” And she finds that there’s a sort of dark, odd thrill in saying it.

 Jason laughs a short, sharp laugh. “For the night…looks like it.” Cheryl looks over across the bar, where the guy her brother just scared away sulks, occasionally throwing them less than amicable glances. She scowls at him.

 “In that case…” She slips from her stool and without any warning slides into Jason’s lap. He gives a sort of half-grunt half-sigh and his blue eyes go wide, but he makes no move to actually prevent it. Cheryl slides her arms around his neck. “We should make sure…” Cheryl definitely notices that Jason is suddenly a little short of breath and that his heartbeat has gotten just a _little_ faster. “That no one else tries anything tonight.”

 Jason brings his face a little closer to hers, and she finds herself studying the gentle patterns of blue and grey in his eyes. She’s always found them beautiful but tonight it’s like they’re like melting ice _._ And it’s lovely.

 “How do we do that?” he asks, his voice shallow and a bit shaky.And yet, before she can answer, he leans in and catches her with a full-flush, passionate kiss. Nothing like the innocent little smooch at the restaurant. No, there’s nothing fraternal in this kiss. And instead of responding like a normal human being and pulling back in revulsion she straddles her brother’s lap and cups his face with her hands to make sure this is a kiss that lasts. Because, obviously, they’re not normal human beings.

 And despite sitting smack in the middle of a crowded bar, no one notices or cares, except for her would-be suitor still staring daggers. A girl and her boyfriend making out isn’t exactly an uncommon sight. Because this isn’t Riverdale, and tonight no one sees the heirs to the Blossom fortune. Tonight all anyone sees are two dumb kids who snuck into a bar like all the other dumb kids and want to have a little fun. And tonight, that’s all either of them really want to be.

* * *

In the morning they could blame it on alcohol, though neither of them really believes that. They’d been tipsy at best, and neither of them really regrets it. Though they do slightly regret not regretting it.

 That winter the Blossoms take a Christmas trip to Hawaii. Jason and Cheryl slip away from their parents to roll around in the crisp white sand of the nearest beach and kiss like some stupid romantic comedy without a drop of alcohol between them. At that point, it’s not really possible to blame the drink anymore. Though ‘blame’ implies it’s something bad.

 Cheryl’s not even upset when a group of kids tries to set up a volleyball game over them, and one of the fuckers has the nerve to say; “Hey dude, can you go screw your girlfriend somewhere else? We’re gonna play here.” Because it allows her to believe for just a moment that they’re just an ordinary, happy teenage couple enjoying a day at the beach, and not a pair of wealthy twins with enough psychological baggage to make Freud blush.

 Of course, she and Jason still flip the kids off, tell them to go fuck themselves, and refuse to move. But really, they wouldn’t be themselves if they did anything different.

 But like every vacation, like every dream, and every pleasure, it all has to end soon enough. Cheryl wears long sleeves and high collars on the trip home to hide the marks Jason leaves on her skin. She sends him mournful, pining looks all the way back to Riverdale, already initiating her mental countdown to their next escape. Their next taste of freedom.

 Riverdale becomes a hell to be tolerated, where they’re stuffed back into the despised guises of Blossom heirs apparent, and shut up in the gilded cage that is Thornhill.

 On their first night back, they stop into Pop’s for a milkshake. Cheryl hears Pop mutter to a waiter “Blossom twins are back” and she wants to cry. Because it’s an ugly, unwanted reminder that this is what they _are_. They _are_ the Blossom twins. The son and daughter of Clifford and Penelope Blossom, first citizens of Riverdale. The football player and the cheerleader. The rich bitch and her jerk brother. No matter how fake it feels, or how real those sweet moments abroad in each other’s arms seem, this is the cold, sad reality. The stupid fantasy of being normal and happy is just that: a fantasy. Nothing more.

 She has a dream that’s just like Hawaii, or New York City, or Maine, only it’s not. It’s right here in Riverdale. But it’s a different Riverdale. A Riverdale where they can share their milkshake and kiss with the taste of chocolate still on their lips and no one gives it a second thought. Where they can share a dance at prom and no one thinks it odd or creepy. People tell them they look sweet together and it’s not a brittle lie. Their parents are gone in that dream. Cheryl doesn’t know where, and realizes she doesn’t really care. The dark, oppressive mountain of Thornhill is gone too, for it has no place in a dream as sweet as this. Riverdale is cheery, bright, and welcoming. Like it should be. Like Cheryl knows it never, ever will be.

Because then she’s awake and the dream is gone and so is any teasing hope of happiness. She buries her face in a pillow and screams in frustration and despair and impotent rage

And the next dream she has is an ugly, painful nightmare that blends seamlessly into her waking life.

**Author's Note:**

> >mfw my OTP is a brother and a sister, one of whom doesn't even actually have lines in the show 
> 
> The suffering is real folks.


End file.
